


Blatant

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, F/M, Healing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Recovery, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, assumes Furiosa is a former wife, brief reference to Angharad's self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: The pool is just deep enough to float in, just wide enough for both of them to stretch out, held up by a miraculous weight of water. Feeling self-conscious both tempers and heightens the pleasure of it.Fill for thesmutty_arts art prompt challenge, inspired byyoukaiyume'sgorgeous and definitely NSFW art





	

She’d thought it would be Max who was nervous.

In general, Furiosa is more relaxed about nakedness than he is. But you can see the whole wasteland from the former Vault, both the other rock towers and the desert beyond. It’s not that anyone can really see in – they’d need a spyglass, they’d need to be looking, they’d need to know there was something to see – but still, it’s open. She doesn’t know how much that bothers Max. For Furiosa, the real issue is in her memory.

The former wives have transformed what used to be their cage. The thick metal door is gone. They’ve brought in plants, held meetings, turned a prison into a welcoming place. The Vuvalini have helped, most of all by coming to it as a new space. They’ve been told about its history, but haven’t experienced it. For people who have lived in the Citadel, there are associations to overcome.

Furiosa remembers two periods of being trapped in this room, first guarded and then a guard. Over seven thousand days, she has rebelled and fought and tried to redeem herself, but this is still somewhere she feels close to her Citadel past. 

The pool is back the way it was during her own days as a wife, the water thigh deep. Joe had raised the bottom, not from economy but because, entirely misreading Angharad’s self-harm scars, he had feared she would try to drown herself. It’s recently been dug out again, so that a slow leak could be fixed. The council have been discussing whether to leave it, return to the shallow depth or fill it in altogether. In the meantime, it’s the most luxurious bathing place in the new Citadel. 

The past moon cycle has been exhausting, a new trade treaty bringing talks, extra runs and ever more work on the rig and pursuit vehicles. Furiosa and Max have been run ragged. Capable had suggested they relax in private for the afternoon, turning the room over to them for a few hours. They’re not the first people she’s offered it to: a group of former milking mothers had had a small party here a few days ago.

They hadn’t replaced the Vault door for a long time, until a cold day with a south-east wind had made the draughts too annoying. In warm weather, the light new door is usually propped open; closing it is a request for privacy. For Furiosa, taking her clothes off here still feels like peeling away the layers of protection she’d built up so slowly and painfully. She’s been a naked woman in this space before. It’s an effort to give up her armour now.

As an imperator, it had been safest to have no sexual desires at all. Since then, she’s tried to relearn herself and her body, looking back to the values she was taught in the Green Place. It’s another thing again to do that here, in the former Vault. She wonders whether Capable knows that, whether the offer of the bathing room was a chance to lay a ghost. Or maybe she’s just overthinking things, standing here with her clothes on. 

Max is in the water already, all shyness lost in the wonder and pleasure of being wet. As she watches, thinking how cautiously he’d undressed, he ducks under the surface and comes up smiling. The skin of his body is pale, where it’s been hidden from the sun. He moves more slowly in water; she can see his muscles working, the power of his thighs and the grace of his torso. The dark curls between his legs are dripping; his cock isn’t hard, but it’s twitching a little. It’s hardly fair to stare like this, when she’s still dressed.

She gets her trousers off, and her underwear, telling herself that she’s not vulnerable, that she’s safe, that she’s free. She can feel the sun, warm on her bare legs. She has a ridiculous urge to keep her shirt on, not to abandon her last barrier. 

He's looking up at her, wet and naked and very inviting. She takes a deep breath and peels her top off, throwing it defiantly to the floor behind her, well out of reach. She refuses to be scared. She looks at Max, daring him to make something of it, only to find that his smile is unbearably fond. 

She feels as if she’s blushing all over, the air cool against her oversensitive body. From the sweetness of his look, she knows he can see her embarrassment, her fear. 

A cool stare and self-possession have been necessary survival skills for most of her life. They’ve both abandoned her now. She wants to fidget, with embarrassment, with how stupidly difficult this still is. She wades in.

As soon as she’s in the water, Max puts his arms out to her. He pulls her into a hug, wet against her dry skin, kissing her. For once, his cheek feels cool against hers; she must be flushed. She realises that he’s turned them, so that he’s between her and the window, his back to the nearest of the Citadel’s other rock towers. She’s grateful, and a little bothered that she was that obvious. She gets sidetracked when he reaches for the soap, starts to wash.

She splashes at him, to help wash the lather off, then splashes again because she can’t resist. In a moment, they’re chasing each other around the pool, which is really not big enough for that, both laughing, the noise echoing in the dome. Furiosa ducks under, as Max had done, hears the water hum in her ears. Water droplets catch the light as she stands up. The pool is just deep enough to float in, just wide enough for both of them to stretch out, held up by a miraculous weight of water. Her self-consciousness both tempers and heightens the pleasure of it. 

“Do your back?” he offers, when she’s had enough of floating. He’s sitting on the bank, his feet dangling in the water. She wades over, turns her back so he can soap her. She’s aware that he’s half-hard, his hands warm on her skin. He scrubs at her right armpit, always the hardest for her to clean, and splashes to rinse her. She leans against him, feels his arm slide around her waist.

He lifts her up into his lap, so that she’s perched on one thigh. His cock is hard against her hip. They’re both slippery. Water runs over her skin, dripping down her breasts, over her legs, but she’s also wet with slick, her body responding to him. She reaches back, putting her arm over his shoulders, her hand in his hair.

It’s not until she’s done it that she realises how that arches her back, the way it lifts her right breast. It’s not something she would even notice, in the privacy of her room. They’ve fucked in more nearly public places, dark corners where there was a chance of being caught, but she’s never been so aware of how much she’s opening herself, how she must look. The room is full of light. She can see the windmills turning, on the far tower.

Max slips one hand under her knee, gently pulls her leg open, so she’s straddling his lap. He shifts his hips under her, his cock now resting between her thighs. She’s held firm and spread open, exposed to the sunlight glinting off the surface of the water, sending reflected light in little dapples over her body. This is private time, private space, Capable had promised, but Furiosa is desperately aware of how easy it would be to forget that agreement, to open a door that isn’t often shut. This room is normally public. She’s stripped naked and he’s going to fuck her in it. She’s a little shocked by just how much she wants him to. 

Max is kissing her, his mouth soft on her lips and jaw. His hand moves between her legs. She twitches at the first brush of his fingers on her clit. Her whole pussy feels swollen, wet and blatant, shivering against his hand and clenching when he dips a finger into her cunt. 

He lifts her knee, pulling it up and out, spreading her legs enough that he can get his cock to her entrance. She moans as he eases himself in, her cunt pulsing. She’s held open, stretched and filled, all so visible. A wave of heat passes over her. She kisses him.

“You are” – he kisses her neck – “so beautiful.” His voice is gruff, his mouth against her skin. She wonders if he’s speaking generally – he has said that before – or if he likes her like this, wet and open for him, stretched tight around him. Her cunt pulses again, at the thought of it. He grunts at the squeeze of her muscles, a little catch of breath. 

If she turns her head, she can see the tower, watch the cranes moving, people at work. No one is looking, no one could see from that distance. If anyone came in, she’d be the first thing they saw, splayed open in Max’s lap, her body bare and her cunt greedy. She must be so pink, so obviously wet and aroused. She can almost see herself in the glass of the window opposite, though the day outside is too bright for the reflection to really show. 

Kissing her neck, he strokes his hand up over her belly, soothing her a little, giving her a moment to get used to it. He murmurs when she draws a deep, shaky breath, nuzzles at her neck. Then he drops his hand to her clit, fingers firm. Furiosa cries out.

She comes quickly, shuddering hard in his lap. It just seems to leave her more worked up. It’s as if her cunt is burning, still wet and hot and hungry. He’s holding her open, her foot trailing against the warm muscle of his thigh. She can’t really grind like this but she does squirm down, trying to pump her hips. Max shuffles under her, moving to sit further forward on the edge of the pool, letting go of her knee to wrap one arm around her ribs. She braces her feet against the side of the bath, rocks back onto him.

She’s almost whining, her hand still fisted in his hair, nipples aching and her cunt twitching. Her body’s responses are so obvious, so demanding. She’s held steady, with just enough room to fuck herself onto him, and she can’t stop. His cock drags against the inner walls of her cunt, where every nerve ending feels charged and hypersensitive. She’s filled and teased at the same time, everything too much.

She wants him. She has allowed herself to want him, to accept that sex and physical closeness are mixed up with trust and caring and loyalty and the other things that make her love him, even if she hasn’t managed to say that yet. But it’s jagged and strange, what she can admit and when. Sometimes it’s easier to accept that she wants to fuck Max than it is to acknowledge that she likes fucking. Sometimes it’s the other way round, it’s the very specific ache for him that she struggles to name for herself. Fucking him here feels like another and different admission, letting herself be sexual in the place where she’d had most need to deny it, letting someone else take charge of her when she’d had to claw her way to every inch of autonomy. She could not be more abandoned, more naked.

She unhooks her arm from his neck to reach down to his cock: where he vanishes into her, where she opens for him. She’s so wet, dripping down him, her fingers already slippery when she reaches for his balls and rubs at the underside of his cock. Their wrists tangle for a moment, before they find space for both their hands, hers at the root of his cock and his on her clit. 

He works and works at her, when every touch is already enough to make her whimper. She’s shaking in his lap, feeling him press against her inside and out, everything amplified by the position, by the state of her body. When she comes again, it goes on for a long time, her breath sobbing. She still hasn’t finished when she feels him jerk hard inside her, hears his grunt as he comes. He goes on stroking her until her tremors stop, wringing the last of it out of her. 

He pulls out carefully, then lifts and turns her to sit sideways across him. Furiosa closes her legs, squeezes her thighs, very aware of her cunt between them. She’s fucked out and still sensitive, filled with slick and come. His chest is still heaving when she leans against him, hair tickling against her breasts as he pants. That fondness is back on his face, no easier to deal with now than it was before. She scrunches down to rest her face against his neck, past even pretending this isn’t too much for her. He makes gentle little noises, stroking her thigh, her back. She feels him kiss the top of her head. 

After a while, he eases her down onto the sun-warmed stone by the pool. She lets her eyes close as he soaps her. His hands are firm and soothing on her torso, very gentle between her legs, washing the stickiness away. He scoops up some water to rinse the soap off, droplets falling soft and sweet on her skin. 

He reaches for a towel, the biggest one – it’s also the most ragged, but when he wraps it around her it covers her like a dress. He’s still naked, Max who can be so defensive about baring himself, his skin warm as he cuddles her. She presses into him, runs her fingers through his damp hair. 

Mindful of Vuvalini teaching on sexual health, she gets up to use the sandbucket. It’s a chance to pull herself together, but as soon as she’s in the curtained alcove, its privacy feels more like isolation. She doesn’t want space to look back, to start overthinking again. Max, who has his own past, keeps her in the moment. This is a good moment. 

She comes back to find him sitting by the pool, clean and naked, smiling when he sees her. Suddenly it becomes simple, just to flop down beside him, to let him tuck her towel more warmly around her, wrap himself around her too. They lie curled together, surrounded by the scent of water and growing plants, watching the light change over the pool and the desert beyond. 

She knows that, from now on, this is what she’ll think of when she comes into this room. It’s better.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
